TM
by pingpond
Summary: The team is turned into a franchise and Peter isn't too happy about it.


_**_TM**_

Peter slumped in the _Milano_'s pilot chair, sinking lower and lower until his ass dangled over the edge and his feet touched the back console panel. Rocket was seated next to him, idly eating a bowl of dried berries while he played a video game on his digipad. The music and sound effects vaguely resembled that of Space Invaders, the arcade game Peter used to play a lot when he was younger.

"Wha'cha playing?" he asked, looking to confirm his suspicions.

"Huh? Oh, just this game called Guardians of the Galaxy."

"That sounds—wait, _what_?"

Peter immediately sat up, and smacked his knees on the underside of the console. He let out a string of curses—some Terran, most not—and turned to face Rocket. "_What_ are you playing?" he repeated, and rubbed his injured joints.

"You deaf, buddy? Guardians. Of. The. Galaxy." Rocket said, slowly sounding out the title. "Some Xanadrian game developer made it for shits and giggles not long after we saved the planet. Apparently, he's really into superheroes. Thinks we're the space Avengers or somethin'. Look."

Rocket tipped the screen towards Peter so he could see. It _was_ Space Invaders. Or close to it, anyway. The top row of invading aliens were shaped like Kree fighterships, and the cannon typically seen at the bottom of the screen was replaced by the familiar blue and orange figure of his _Milano_. Rocket pressed a button off to the side of the screen, sending forth blasts of golden plasma rays from the _Milano_'s weapons port. A column of Kree fighterships disintegrated from the rays and Rocket's in-game score tripled.

"Neat, huh?" Rocket said, and popped a handful of berries into his mouth. "Just got the game this morning. I'm already on level forty-two."

"I didn't know someone made a video game about us." Peter said, quietly.

Then he exploded.

"Why didn't anyone tell me? Huh? Why didn't anyone tell me someone made a frickin' video game about us! Huh?" He paused, a thought suddenly occuring to him. "_Are we even getting paid for this?"__  
><em>

"You're an idiot, Quill. Don't you follow the Cortex?" Rocket said.

Peter shook his head, and Rocket sighed.

"Guardians of the Galaxy hit the top of the gaming charts the first week it debuted. Apparently, there's a lot of other superhero freaks out there in the galaxy. Whatever. Anyway, the game developer started raking in a nice bit of dough because of them, somewhere in _thousands_ for that first week and growing higher. He was about to retire when some CEO of some big-shot video game company approached him and offered to buy the rights to the game. A million credits, he was prepaired to give him, plus another two million if the developer continued to make more for him."

"And the developer took it?"

"Of course he did! What do you think? Only a brainless _idiot_ would pass up on that offer! Anyway," Rocket continued, with a shake of his head, "when word got out about the deal, a lot of other money-grubbing mongrels started liking the idea of turning us into a brand, too. T-shirts, lunchboxes, action figures, you name it. Everyone's suddenly got Guardian fever. But Nova Corps didn't like this. Apparently, we belong to them and them _only_. So they went to the courts, fought these big wigs, and had us officially trademarked. Our names, our likeness, _what we smell like_, all belong to Nova Corps now. Anyone who wants to use us for something has to get a license from Nova Corps first. Even for stupid stuff, like putting our faces on a frickin' cereal box! _And_ they gotta pay for those licenses, too."

"So how come we aren't getting a share of the profit? That's _my_ ship you're playing!" Peter cried, and pointed at the digipad.

"Nova Corps claims the proceeds go directly to the reconstruction of the capital. You know, the one we helped destroy?" Rocket reached for another handful of berries. "They could be pocketing it for themselves—_I_ sure as hell would—but the last time I hacked into their payroll accounts, everyone was still receiving their usual amounts."

Peter fell silent.

"Well, can we at least buy our name back?" he asked, finally.

Rocket bared his teeth at him in what looked like a smile. "Sure pal. You got two hundred _million_ credits lying around somewhere?"

Then he tipped his head back and laughed, the loud abrasive noise making Peter's skin crawl.

"Screw you. I'm getting something to eat." Peter said, and sullenly rose from his chair. Rocket's laugh echoed in his ears long after he left the cockpit.

* * *

><p>"<em>I am Groot!<em>"

"Hey, Groot."

Groot was sitting at the kitchen table, a book in his hand and a smile on his face. Peter smiled back at him in passing as he made his way to the refrigerator. Peter had to admit, the tree-like humanoid was coming along nicely since his explosion last month. Groot was already up to his waist, and no longer needed his pot to support him. Rocket predicted that it would take another month or so before he was back to his normal height again.

"Reading anything good, buddy?" Peter asked. He swung open the refrigerator door and peered in.

Spoiled milk, leftover Farvian noodles, mildly cheese, wilted lettuce, and a pink, jelly-looking substance that appeared to be moving. Nothing good.

Peter sighed and shut the door.

"I _am_ Groot." he affirmed.

Peter turned around and Groot shoved the book in his face. He grabbed it just before he was smacked and flipped the book over to read the cover.

His jaw fell to the floor.

"You've got to be _frickin_' kidding me."

The book Groot was reading was actually a comic book, just like the ones he used to read in his childhood. However, instead of seeing Batman or Captain America poised on the front, it was them_—his team_—drawn as cartoon characters. They were dressed in ridiculous outfits—especially Gamora, she wouldn't like that—and brandishing heavy weapons and menacing snarls. The title read: _Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 1 — Ronan's Defeat._

Peter suddenly felt sick.

"I am Groot?" he asked, looking concerned.

"No, I'm fine." Peter handed the book back to him. "You know what, I'm suddenly not hungry anymore. In fact, I feel kinda nauseous. I think I'm going to go lie down in my bunk for a while."

"_I_ am Groot?"

"Yeah. The artists _did_ do a good job at capturing your eyes."

* * *

><p>Peter made his way to his bunk, sullen, like a child denied his dessert. He was going to have a nice chat with Dey about the whole my-team-is-now-a-franchise thing the next time he saw him. A nice, <em>long<em> chat. And maybe with only minimal swearing.

He passed by the ship's rec room. Loud grunting and foul language wafted from the open entryway. And the unmistakable sound of phaser fire.

Gamora and Drax were fighting.

Again.

Peter rushed into the room, frantically waving his arms in the air. "Quit it, you guys! Stop! What the hell? You were doing so good—you were about to go two weeks without trying to kill each other! Look, whatever it is, I'm sure we can—"

He paused. What happened next was, as the saying went, the icing on the cake.

Drax and Gamora were sprawled out on the floor, breathing heavily and glistening with sweat. At Peter's arrival, however, they jumped to their feet and turned to smile at him, mischeviously.

"Hey, Quill." Gamora said. "Duck."

She whipped a blue and orange painted phaser from behind her back and aimed for Peter's heart.

Gamora pulled the trigger. Peter screamed.

Instead of burning a hole through him, the phaser sounded out a firing effect and bathed Peter's shirt with a bright, blue glow.

Drax doubled over in laughter. "You sound much like a female, Peter Quill! My wife had more courage than you!" He smirked. "Fear not, these are merely play phasers."

"Yeah, Rocket gave them to us." Gamora said. She turned the phaser over in her hands. The words _Guardians of the Galaxy (TM) _were engraved on the handle in silver lettering. "Drax and I were just playing a little game with them. Would you like to join us?"

"The object is to not let the light touch you," Drax explained. "Or else you forfeit the round. The space wench has proven victorious many times. She is much more quick and agile than I am," He confessed, and shot her a knowing look. "But she tires easily."

"And yet I still have you beat, forty to twenty-one." Gamora taunted. "Let's see how Peter fairs. Peter, would you like me to get you...Peter?"

She turned to look at him, but he had already left the room.

* * *

><p>Rocket wasn't in the cockpit when Peter arrived.<p>

Good, he thought. He wouldn't have to listen to his snarky comments during the call.

Peter plunked down into his pilots chair and quickly sent a communication request to Nova Corps. While he waited for confirmation, Peter sunk in his chair and fumed. Screw being nice—Dey was going to get it. _All_ of it.

The Nova Corps insignia popped up one of the com screens, followed by the image of Corpsman Dey sitting in his office, idly chewing a doughnut.

"_Quill_," Dey greeted, not the least bit enthusiastic to see him. "_Is it time for your monthly report already_?"

"No. It's time for _your_ monthly report, Dey, to make up for all the shit you failed to inform me during the last one." Peter seethed. "Why the hell didn't you tell me you turned my team into a frickin' franchise?"

"_Huh? Oh, that thing. I thought Rocket would have told you by now._"

"Yeah, he did._ Ten minutes ago_." Peter scowled. "How could you do this to us, man? I thought we had an agreement!"

"_Oh, c'mon, Peter. Think of all the good you're doing! All the money we receive from the licenses we issue all go to the restoration of the capitol. Doesn't that make you feel good inside? Plus, everyone thinks you're superheroes! The kids run around here playing with Star-Lord action figures and say how much they want to be like you when they grow up_." Dey popped the remainder of his doughnut in his mouth and chewed, thoughtfully. "_If that doesn't boost your superfluous ego, Peter, then I don't know what will._"

It did, but Peter wasn't going to admit it. He crossed his arms instead, and leaned back in his chair. "Fine," he grumbled. "But can we at least get a cut of the profit? Say, sixty-forty, to be fair?"

Dey laughed. "_You can haggle all you want, kid, but Nova Prime made it very clear that you guys are not to receive any share of the proceeds until a ten-year period has passed. Even then, you won't receive it all at once. Just in small amounts._" He paused. "_Think of it like a trust fund. Yeah, you may hate it now, but you'll appreciate it in the future. You know, for a time when you'll really need it..._"

A gangly, spotted-face cadet walked across the screen. He stopped before Dey's desk and looked down at him in disinterest. "_Sir_," he boredly announced. "_Your Guardians of the Galaxy-shaped chicken nuggets are ready. Would you like me to bring them to you now?_"

"_Yes, please. And make sure you have the right sauce for them—I don't want a repeat of what happened last week._" The cadet moved away and Dey turned back the screen. "_Now Peter, one more thing. Can you please tell Rocket to stop hacking into our payroll accounts? This is third time this month that he's done this, and our tech guys aren't going to live to see—Peter? What are you_—"

Peter ended the call.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This was something dumb and short to wet my feet in the fandom. R&Rs are appreciated. _


End file.
